


The Clerk's Complaint

by notkingyet



Category: The Mystery of Edwin Drood (2012), The Mystery of Edwin Drood - Charles Dickens
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notkingyet/pseuds/notkingyet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the state of the world is as it should be, Bazzard takes care of Mr. Grewgious. (At least, according to the latter––the former would disrespectfully disagree.) What would become of Mr. Grewgious if Bazzard were to fall ill, one dares not imagine. Certainly nothing good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clerk's Complaint

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place at some point prior to the events of the novel. Characterization and setting are based both on the unfinished novel and the BBC miniseries. Little from column A, little from column B...

On one gloomy evening, otherwise not particularly distinguishable from any other, at the office of Mr. Grewgious, Bazzard coughed.

Mr. Grewgious immediately turned to see what his temperamental clerk wanted, only to find the man bent over his own desk, working with his back to Mr. Grewgious and seemingly ignorant of Mr. Grewgious' attention.

"Yes, Bazzard?" Mr. Grewgious prompted gently.

Bazzard's pen paused in its scratching. Bazzard himself slowly straightened his spine and turned to face his employer. 

"Sir?"

Mr. Grewgious frowned a little, but resolved to be patient with the young man. "You coughed, Bazzard."

Bazzard, to Mr. Grewgious' surprise, looked somewhat abashed.

"So I did, sir. Do forgive the disturbance."

Mr. Grewgious began to reassure Bazzard that he was not at all disturbed, but as Bazzard had already turned back around to resume his work, Mr. Grewgious let his awkward attempt at comfort trail off into silence. This silence, save for the scratching of pens, the shifting of paper, and the crackle of the fire in the grate, reigned for perhaps a minute or so.

Bazzard coughed again.

"Really now," said Mr. Grewgious, about to say there was no call for such underhanded tactics in getting his attention, only to be cut off by his clerk.

"My apologies, sir," said Bazzard, before he had quite regained his breath. Mr. Grewgious misliked the sound of the thin, reedy noise emitting from the young man's throat.

"Are you all right, Bazzard?" Mr. Grewgious asked.

"Of course, sir," said Bazzard with a familiar arched eyebrow.

Satisfied that Bazzard remained his resentful, put-upon self, Mr. Grewgious returned his attention to his work.

Bazzard sneezed.

The night was neither particularly cold, nor particularly foggy––and even if it had been either, the windows were securely shut, the doors blocked from any draught, and a respectable fire burned in the grate. Bazzard had seen to all of this himself. Mr. Grewgious had made sure of it. And yet.

"Forgive me if I intrude, Bazzard," Mr. Grewgious began gently, "but I cannot help but notice you do not seem to be feeling quite the thing."

Mr. Grewgious was certain Bazzard would find a way to take offense to this. For a second time that evening, Bazzard surprised him.

"No intrusion, sir," said Bazzard, and when he turned to face Mr. Grewgious again, Mr. Grewgious perceived that his pale cheeks were flushed. "But I assure you, I am perfectly capable of performing the tasks to which you have set me."

This was not at all what Mr. Grewgious had meant, but Bazzard had turned around again and seemed determined to ignore any further inquiries after his health.

A few more coughs and a second sneeze later, Mr. Grewgious had become equally determined to do something about it.

"Mr. Bazzard," he began, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Perhaps it would be best if you retired for the day, and returned tomorrow, when you will no doubt be better able to concentrate."

Bazzard did not look at all as though he agreed. "Are you sending me home, sir?"

"Yes!" said Mr. Grewgious, in a more forceful tone than he had ever before used with Bazzard.

Bazzard appeared momentarily taken aback. He blinked at Mr. Grewgious, stifled another cough, and said, "If you insist, sir."

With no more ceremony than that, Bazzard swiftly gathered up his personal effects and left the office.

Immediately following Bazzard's departure, a feeling of dread crept over Mr. Grewgious. Supposing his last comment had gone too far, and Bazzard departed Mr. Grewgious' services entirely over the offense? What if Bazzard had walked out not just for the night, but for-ever?

Mr. Grewgious quickly banished that dread as absurd––for one thing, where on earth else could Bazzard hope to go for employment?––and returned to his own work. He accomplished only three-quarters as much as he would have liked without Bazzard's help, but nonetheless felt it a good day's work overall as he shut up shop for the night.

The next morning, Bazzard arrived some minutes late, as per usual. What was not usual was the way his large dark eyes shone bright on his normally-pale visage––on that morning, like the night previous, his cheeks were far rosier than Mr. Grewgious could ever recall seeing them before. Forgoing any greeting beyond a brisk nod, Bazzard brushed past Mr. Grewgious' desk and made for his own work station. 

"Feeling better, I hope?" Mr. Grewgious called after him.

"Yes," said Bazzard. The single syllable sounded as though its speaker were struggling to pronounce it while simultaneously choking back a cough.

No further sound issued from that dark corner of the office for some time. Mr. Grewgious glanced over and perceived that Bazzard's handkerchief was clasped tight over his mouth, and every other minute or so it fluttered forcefully, rather like it was being used to muffle the noise of a sudden, involuntary expulsion of air.

"Bazzard?" said Mr. Grewgious.

"Yes, sir?" Bazzard wheezed. It was undeniably a wheeze, and Mr. Grewgious would not let this fact be dismissed as mere supposition. He drew himself up in his chair and prepared to brook no retreat in the forthcoming debate.

"If you are not well enough for work," said Mr. Grewgious, "I would rather you remained at home."

Bazzard blinked those fever-bright eyes at him, very slowly.

"Are you dismissing me again, sir?" he said. It took a while for him to say it, as he had to stop after the second and fifth words to clear his throat and catch his breath.

"Indeed I am!" said Mr. Grewgious.

"Very well, sir," said Bazzard. 

He attempted a put-upon sigh, but it dissolved into a coughing fit. This fit lasted nearly a full minute, during which Mr. Grewgious hovered half-out of his chair, uncertain whether or not he should go to his clerk's aid, and what, if any, aid he could possibly hope to offer. 

Regaining his breath, Bazzard retrieved his hat and coat and, with a nod at his employer, left the office. Mr. Grewgious sat back down at his desk and thought the matter settled until a heavy thud sounded from the hall.

Mr. Grewgious frowned at the closed door as though it could provide an answer. It could not and did not. Lacking a clerk to send in his stead, he went to investigate the unusual noise himself.

Upon opening the door to the hall, Mr. Grewgious discovered the crumpled form of Bazzard on the floor.

After shouting in alarm, and bending down to ascertain that his clerk was merely insensible rather than deceased, Mr. Grewgious sat back against the wood paneling along the wall and considered what was to be done. 

Clearly, Bazzard was ill. A physician would have to be called. Mr. Grewgious made a mental note of this. 

Equally clearly, Bazzard could not remain in the hallway. He would have to be moved. But to where? Even with aid, it would be a struggle to carry him out of the office and to his own lodgings. For that matter, any further exposure to the London smog would undoubtedly serve to worsen Bazzard's condition. Therefore it would be best for Bazzard to remain in the building where he now lay, though certainly not on the floor. He would need a bed. The sofa would do in a pinch, but a bed would be better. Mr. Grewgious had a bed in his lodgings across the hall––this would need to become Bazzard's bed, for the time being. Mr. Grewgious would take the sofa. 

But first, the physician. With a speed and energy that would have surprised anyone who'd had dealings with him prior to that moment, Mr. Grewgious put his plans into motion.


End file.
